She’s infuriating. Exciting. Smart. Gorgeous. Funny. Damn good at her job. Sexy. Sensitive. Alone.
God, I hate that she’s alone. She shouldn’t be. She should have more than Erik and their sham relationship. More than Susan and their casual … whatever. She deserves someone who will be willing to be proud to be at her side as her lover. Who will tell the entire world to piss off about morals clauses and other such nonsense.
My parents didn’t raise me to roll over and accept the status quo and suffer injustice quietly. Nope. Not the Kingsleys.
Truth be told, I can’t wait to see my family. Four long months of not having decent food and music in my life. And not playing touch football with my brothers. And I haven’t even seen Robie and Rene’s little baby Clark yet. My own nephew and I haven’t even seen him after three months of being in this world.
Mama isn’t pleased, I know that. I got an earful of sour French last time I called home.
Hmm.
I think I know how to get Mama off of my back. Give her a new cause. Always worked for Papa before.
I stand up and straighten my shirt, for no reason other than to give my hands something to do. Come on, Harper, stop acting like a nervous teenager. Which, if I need to remind you, you never were before. Just go ask her.
I find myself standing in Kelsey’s office, not quite sure how I got here. She’s staring at me, waiting for me to speak. "Why don’t you come home with me for the holidays, Kels?"
There. To the point.
She is surprised at my invitation. I think. Either that or she just swallowed a fish.
"Uh, well, Harper … thanks for the invitation. But, really, I couldn’t intrude."
"It’s not intruding if you’re invited."
"That’s really sweet, but … No. You go on home and have a good time. I’ll be here when you get back."
Then it hits me: What if she isn’t? What if the fucking stalker does something to her while I’m gone? After I promised her earlier this week that I’d take care of her. After I’ve been sleeping on her couch for the last couple nights.
"Come on, Kels. You know you want to. It’ll just be me and my family. A small gathering of about twenty insane Cajuns having a wonderful holiday. Mama is the best cook in all of Louisiana, even Emeril Lagasse calls her for cooking advice." I can tell she’s not yet persuaded, so I try pulling out the big gun. Well, I hope it’s a big gun. "Besides, I promised to protect you and I can’t do that if we’re in different states. And my Mama will absolutely kill me if I don’t come home for Thanksgiving. I’m already standing hip deep in gator shit for not going home when my nephew was born. So …."
Kelsey laughs. It’s a wonderful sound. "Okay, okay. If I can get a ticket at this late time, I’m yours for the holiday."
God, if only that were true.
We’re sitting in first class on Delta flight 1816 about to take off from Dallas. Next stop New Orleans. I was able to purchase Kels’ ticket for a mere $2500 at this late date. But, at least, she’s with me.
Take that, Susan. I’m not ashamed of her. Or myself.
Kelsey is gripping the armrest as if it’s her last, best friend in the world. We went through this when we took off from LAX earlier this morning. She really hates to fly. I’d give her something alcoholic to drink, but Omaha is a bad memory.
"All right, are you ready for the cast of characters?" I ask, trying to distract her.
"What?" She blinks mossy green eyes at me.
"My family. Ready to learn all their names?"
"That many?"
"Well, I have twenty immediate family – mom, dad, brothers, sisters-in-laws, nephews and nieces. All of them will be there for Thanksgiving. And then I have forty-nine other relatives – aunts, uncles, cousins, Nonny – who you may or may not see this time. This gives me a total of sixty-nine relatives, which I find inordinately pleasing for some reason."
She snickers, "Right. For some reason."
"Dirty mind," I chastise. I hear my New Orleans accent coming out stronger as we head home. I like it. It feels right to speak to Kelsey this way. "All right, Mama and Papa are Cecile and Jonathan Kingsley. Then my brothers are Gerrard, Jean, Lucien and Robie."
Kelsey is amused. "How in the hell did you end up with Harper then?"
"Well, I am called Leone by the Cajun side of the family. But my brothers and parents know better."
"Which side is Cajun?"
"Chér, with a last name like Kingsley, what you tink?" I slip right into the way I’ve spoken with my mother’s family all my life.
"Your mama’s?"
"Tres bien. She was Cecile Boudreaux before marrying my daddy."
"So, what are your brothers’ non-Cajun names then?"
I laugh, wondering what her reaction will be to them. "Well, now remember, my parents were big in the civil rights movement. So, we have Medgar, John, Martin and Robert."
She shakes her head, getting all of the references. "Medgar Evers, JFK, Martin Luther King, and RFK. And then Harper Lee of ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ fame. Jesus, they were serious about it, weren’t they?"
"Still are. I come from a very passionate family. We all just focus our passion a bit differently."
"What do your brothers do for a living?"
"They’re all attorneys. Well, Gerrard’s a judge, actually."
"Sixties civil rights activists gave birth to four attorneys? Somehow that doesn’t seem right."
"Actually, Papa always said the best way to change the institution was to infiltrate it. He came from a very wealthy and influential family in New Orleans."
Kelsey’s small hand releases the armrest and travels over to rest on my forearm. "Thanks for inviting me, Harper. I’m really looking forward to meeting your family."
"They’re gonna love you, Kels. It’ll be the best Thanksgiving you’ve ever had. I guarantee it."
Or I’ll kick their ever-lovin’ butts all the way down St. Charles.
We make the right turn on St. Charles and drive the final leg to my family’s house. Okay, house isn’t quite the right word.
"Ohmigod," Kelsey says as I pull into the long driveway alongside the family home. "This is where your parents live?"
"Not exactly the trailer you had pictured, eh?"
She slaps my arm gently. "Harper."
I never thought much about the house growing up. All the houses in the Garden District are impressive. Ours was just another Greek Revival on the block. The one thing I did gratefully know was that it had eight bedrooms, so I didn’t have to share with any of my brothers.
As I park the Explorer, I see Mama walk out onto the porch, having heard us pull in. Well, here goes nothing. God, I can’t believe I ‘m nervous about being home. I’ve never felt this way before.
"By the way, do you speak French at all?" I ask as we climb out the vehicle.
She wrinkles her face up in a cute frown. "A little."
"Ah, good. French tends to be the language of choice with the family. But, they’re pretty good about it when any of the wives are around."
Her eyebrow hikes up toward her hairline. "I’m a wife now?"
"No!" Shit. "No, my brothers are all married. And only Rene speaks fluent French. The others are pretty bad with it, actually." Is my face as red as it feels?
"Okay. Because, I mean, Harper, we haven’t even gone steady."
I join her smile, catching her reference to our school adventure. "I did carry your books though."
"True. So, why don’t you get the luggage now?" Laughing at me, she turns and walks toward my home.
"Oh no, ma’am, get back over here!" I wave her back over.
She looks over her shoulder lowering her sunglasses to stare at me over the top of them. It is undeniably cute and a bit alluring. I wave her back again and she turns and very slowly walks back to me.